


Akutagawa Ryunosuke 芥川 龍之介

by sadmarchhare



Series: Poetry about/for writers/their works [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Autumn, Death, Happy Birthday Akutagawa Ryunosuke, Loneliness, Metaphors, Poetry, akutagawa ryunosuke - Freeform, fin de siecle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:55:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadmarchhare/pseuds/sadmarchhare
Summary: Even so nothing really is lost because what would Fall be without falling leaves?Orange and yellow in color, he rested his hands on the inside of his yukataAll he could do was wait alone and he knew it was so, that's why he didn’t even sighPoem I wrote for Akutagawa's birthday
Series: Poetry about/for writers/their works [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2171955
Kudos: 1





	Akutagawa Ryunosuke 芥川 龍之介

**Author's Note:**

> here's a poem (a bit rushed im sorry) i wrote for one of my favorite writers birthday. hope him and you reading this like it

The orange of the leaves reflect in his dark eyes making them seem hopeful  
Contrasting with his downcast disposition, frown and slumped shoulders  
A leaf twirled around in his fingers with nothing coming to mind  
He did nothing but stare at it and then threw it on the ground with the rest  
An afternoon alone wasted on listening to the trees shaking with the wind 

Ah, wasted? Perhaps not, as he had written one sentence earlier  
But where is that paper now? When he turned to look at his desk it wasn’t there  
Had it fallen on the ground because of the wind? But getting up,  
and looking for it wasn’t really worth it, it had just been a sentence anyway  
Many leaves fall, one can’t really catch them all just hope for a new season 

Even so nothing really is lost because what would Fall be without falling leaves?  
Orange and yellow in color, he rested his hands on the inside of his yukata  
All he could do was wait alone and he knew it was so, that's why he didn’t even sigh 

How simple life felt in that afternoon all the stupidity he believed himself to have  
All the tiredness that consumed his mind and words, didn’t exist for a second  
As if the end of the life of each leaf marked the end of his, however  
When his eyes drifted to the leaves on the ground, he knew that wasn’t true  
He knew that’d he’d die when the trees were unmovable and the flowers had died  
He wasn’t a mere phrase after all, he couldn’t so simply fall, even if he wished to 

On a Fall afternoon even with bright looking eyes and with a sentence written  
A writer wished a story would come out of it or that his unavoidable destiny  
Would meet him there, maybe chat but that wasn’t something for today  
Whispered a leaf that fell on his lap, urging him to just cry for today  
Live another day and pick up his pen again

**Author's Note:**

> if you like literature consider being my mutual on twt @wilIiammoriarty


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